


Four times I Bumped into Shelly Maxwell (And One Time She Bumped into Me)

by zinke



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen, Off-screen Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-06
Updated: 2010-06-06
Packaged: 2017-10-12 04:36:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/120866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinke/pseuds/zinke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Shelly Maxwell first moved into The Belvedere, she caused a bit of a stir – mostly by not causing one at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four times I Bumped into Shelly Maxwell (And One Time She Bumped into Me)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to gabolange for her assistance and infinite patience while helping me get this fic into shape; to caz963 who is always ready and willing to give a story a read-through even if she has no idea what it's about; and to zaleti for the suggestions and advice.
> 
> This story takes place in the canon AU created in the SG-1 movie 'Continuum'.

When Shelly Maxwell first moved into The Belvedere, she caused a bit of a stir – mostly by not causing one at all.

According to old Mrs. Batten – known affectionately as Mrs. B by her closest friends who, as far as I could tell was just about everyone – Shelly'd been living in the building for the better part of a week before anyone had even noticed. It was a situation unusual enough to have captured the attention of most of the building's residents, which of course meant it was the sole topic of conversation that Sunday morning as we sat together in the small communal courtyard, sipping our coffee and enjoying the bright summer sunshine.

The gathering was a weekend ritual that, according to Mrs. B, had been around as long as the turn of the century building itself. I myself had been coming regularly ever since my husband Tom and I moved in a few years ago, and it was just one of the many reasons we loved living here.

The Belvedere was by no means a flashy place, but what it lacked in grandeur it more than made up for in character – both in terms of the building and of its residents. Despite the rather motley assortment of characters living here, there was a sense of kinship amongst the building's inhabitants that, as the eldest of five in a rather close-knit family, I'd long ago come to associate with the notion of home.

Like everyone else who lived here, Tom and I found the fact that our neighbors knew more about us than the number on our apartment door to be a reassurance rather than an invasion – which was probably why Shelly's apparent aversion to getting to know her neighbors had ruffled so many feathers. It simply wasn't the way things were done here – a fact Mrs. B had proclaimed with no small degree of dismay before going on to describe her brief and evidently unsatisfying encounter with Shelly in the building's mailroom only a few days earlier.

Mrs. B wasn't the only one feeling disappointed; throughout the telling of the story she'd been peppered with all sorts of questions – Who was she? Where was she from? What did she do? – none of which Mrs. B'd been able to answer to anyone's satisfaction, including her own.

"Poor thing looked so nervous, it was a miracle she was able to string more than two words together," she explained with an apologetic shrug.

"From what you've said it doesn't really sound like she did," Alex commented with a smirk.

Beside him, his partner Bobby rolled his eyes.

"Well, can you at least tell us what she _looked_ like?" Ellie Wong asked impatiently.

If she was at all bothered by Ellie's tone, Mrs. B certainly didn't show it. Instead, she took her time considering the question before answering succinctly, "Pale. I swear I've seen ghosts that had more substance to them than she did."

Now that they were finally beginning to get some answers, everyone – even Alex – had fallen silent. I did my best to conceal my grin behind my coffee mug as I watched them wait with bated breath for Mrs. B – who was well aware of the sudden and undivided attention – to continue.

Surveying her audience, she settled back into her chair and took a slow, deliberate sip of her tea. "Poor thing was just standing there, staring into her mailbox; and there wasn't a _single_ letter inside – not even one of those coupon books. My husband's been dead for going on three years and they're _still_ sending them to him."

Tempting as it was, it didn't seem worth it to point out that, unlike Mrs. B and her husband, Shelly had only just moved in and odds were the junk mailers simply hadn't had a chance to catch up with her yet. Logic, after all, was hardly the point here.

"Of course," Mrs. B added off-handedly a moment later, "it must be difficult, looking as much like that poor, dead astronaut as she does."

To be honest, I'd been on the verge of tuning the rest of the conversation out; as much as I enjoyed getting together with everyone, I generally had little interest in engaging in this sort of gossip. But Mrs. B's comment happened to catch my attention – though it took me a few seconds to realize why. "Samantha Carter?" I asked once I'd put two and two together.

"That's the one," she replied with a nod. "Can you just imagine? If I hadn't already read all about her in _People_ magazine, I'd have thought the girl was her twin sister. She only had the one brother, you know."

Mrs. B wasn't the only one who had read about her, of course. In the days and weeks following the _Intrepid_ disaster, Commander Carter's face had been on the front page of every newspaper, the cover of every magazine. Her funeral had been broadcast live on all the major networks, and her father's acceptance of the Congressional Space Medal of Honor on her behalf had made the evening news.

By all accounts, Samantha Carter had been a brilliant, passionate scientist who loved her work – loved it enough to risk her life and ultimately die for it. My professional goals had never been quite that lofty, but as someone who had grown up idolizing the likes of Wonder Woman and Margaret Thatcher I couldn't help but respect and, in a way, envy her dedication and accomplishments. Whatever professional – or superhuman – aspirations I may have entertained had long since been put aside in favor of other concerns: home, family, motherhood. And though I'd never regretted the decisions I'd made, there were still times when I'd wonder what might have been if fate had dealt Tom and I a different hand.

Oblivious to my silent musings, the others had carried on the conversation without me – that is until the sound of the courtyard door creaking open drew everyone's attention. Almost as one, we turned to see who it was, and I literally felt my jaw drop open slightly at the sight of Shelly Maxwell standing uncomfortably in the doorway.

My first thought was that, despite the undeniable physical resemblance – same height, same shoulder-length blonde hair, wide blue eyes, and pretty face – she didn't look a _thing_ like Samantha Carter. The passion, strength and determination that had shone from every photograph, had been exalted in every posthumous article, and that everyone including myself had come to associate with the storied astronaut was conspicuously absent. From the tired slump of Shelly's shoulders to the dullness in her eyes, it was clear that this woman was someone else entirely, and as irrational and unfair as it was, the unavoidable comparison left me feeling disappointed.

I don't know how long it was before I realized that I had been openly staring, but if the delicate flush that rose to Shelly cheeks was any indication, it had been a while. As I forced myself to look away, I noticed with chagrin that I hadn't been the only one gawking at the new arrival. Suddenly the mortified expression on her face seemed to make a lot more sense.

"I'm sorry," she stammered, taking a small step backwards. "I didn't realize—"

"Nonsense, dear!" No doubt hoping to make the most of the situation, Mrs. B rose hurriedly from her chair and, smiling widely, gestured for Shelly to take her seat. "We'd be more than happy to have you join us."

"Oh, thank you; but I'm not really… That is, I—" Shelly broke off suddenly, her eyes darting nervously from one person to the next. As crazy as it sounded, I couldn't shake the feeling that she was somehow _frightened_ of us, and while on first blush Ellie could certainly come off as kind of intimidating, the rest of the building's residents were for the most part pretty harmless. As Shelly continued to stand there looking more and more panicked by the second, all I could think was someone must have done something pretty damn awful to her to make her shy away from people like that.

Whatever her reasons may have been, in the end it really didn't matter. Before anyone could say anything more, Shelly muttered another quick, halfhearted apology and disappeared back inside.

"See?" Mrs. B said with a cluck of her tongue. "What did I tell you? Just like a ghost."

Watching the door swing shut behind Shelly's retreating form, I couldn't help but nod my agreement.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Running into one's neighbors in the mailroom was something of a regular occurrence at The Belvedere. I usually saw Bobby or Alex at least once a week, and Ellie Wong and I crossed paths nearly every day. But this was the first time I'd run into Shelly here; and more notably, it was the first time I – or virtually anyone else, for that matter – had seen her since that morning in the courtyard.

Out of sight had not, however, led to Shelly's being out of mind. Commander Carter's doppelganger had quickly become the favored topic of Sunday morning conversation. Most of it was nothing more than idle gossip and wild speculation; her continued low profile had meant there was very little actual new information to talk about, and so some of the more…'creative' among us had taken it upon themselves to fill in the blanks. Bobby had even got it into his head that Shelly was some sort of undercover agent; and try as I might, no amount of logic or rational arguing had been able to convince him otherwise.

Regardless of who Shelly might have been, as I stood at the threshold of the mailroom I had to admit that there was something about her that seemed to put me on edge. Even standing with her back to me, her body language all but screamed 'leave me alone' and it was all I could do to ignore the impulse to turn around and come back later. Instead, I forced myself to move across the room, coming to a stop only a few feet away from her as I slipped my key into my box's lock.

I'd had every intention of simply collecting my mail and heading upstairs, but as I pulled the stack of envelopes from the mailbox, my curiosity got the better of me. Hazarding a surreptitious glance in her direction, I was irrationally relieved to find that she too had several envelopes in her hand. At least this time, coupon book or not, she wouldn't be leaving empty-handed.

A moment too late I realized with no small degree of embarrassment that my scrutiny had not gone unnoticed, and in a clumsy attempt to cover myself I plastered an overly wide smile on my face and stuck out my hand.

"Hi," I said brightly. "I'm Rachel Verteller in 2D."

I had to hand it to her; if she thought anything about my strange behavior she certainly didn't show it. Instead she offered me what seemed to be a genuine – if lukewarm – smile and shook my hand. "Shelly. Shelly Maxwell."

"Welcome to the Belvedere."

"Thanks."

Maybe it was the hesitancy in her voice as she thanked me, or the way her expression had faltered as she'd slipped her mail into her purse before turning to leave. Whatever the reason, I couldn't seem to stop myself from calling out to her as she turned to leave. "Listen, I don't know if anyone's mentioned it to you yet, but every Labor Day we – the residents, I mean – have a cookout in the back courtyard. It'd be a great way for you to meet the rest of the building."

For a moment she seemed to be genuinely considering the offer, and in an effort to convince her I quickly added, "You're welcome to bring a friend, if you'd like."

In hindsight, it probably would have been better to have been patient and given her the chance to make-up her own mind. She seemed to close down on me almost immediately, uttering a hurried, "No, thank you," in a voice no louder than a whisper before turning and practically running out of the room. From the vestibule there came the sharp sound of a dog barking, and as I continued to stare at the now empty doorway a flustered Ellie Wong bustled into the mailroom, her perfectly groomed Pomeranian, Felix, close on her heels.

"What was _that_ about?" Ellie asked dramatically, tossing a pointed glance over her shoulder.

"Nothing," I replied, carefully bending down to scratch the excited dog behind the ears.

"That," Ellie said, pointing a freshly manicured finger in the direction of the elevator, "was not 'nothing'." She made a show of looking around the room before leaning in conspiratorially. "Angela says she hardly ever leaves her apartment, and when she does she barely says a word to anyone."

Of course, by 'anyone' Angela had _really_ meant 'Angela,' and in my opinion not engaging her in conversation was a sign of both intelligence and sound judgment on Shelly's part. But I didn't dare say as much to Ellie. Instead, I gave Felix a final pat on the head and rose to my feet. "She must have her reasons."

Ellie, shot me a disappointed look. "Reasons or not, it certainly is _strange_ , don't you think?"

I thought about the way Shelly had looked at me just before she'd left, her expression a dissonant mixture of longing, regret and accusation, and tried vainly to make sense of it.

"Yeah. Strange."

*~*~*~*~*~*

Raising a hand to shield my eyes from the late afternoon sun, I watched with a mixture of amusement and exasperation as my son Joshua toddled determinedly through Mrs. B's carefully planted flowerbed. I took a quick glance around to make sure Mrs. B wasn't watching – and that's when I noticed Shelly standing in the courtyard doorway, just as she had the first time I'd seen her a few months ago, balancing a foil-covered casserole dish in her hands.

I'd no sooner caught sight of her than Joshua let out a yelp of surprise and abruptly began to cry. By the time I'd rushed over, checked him for scrapes and bruises, brushed the dirt from the seat of his overalls and sent him on his way with a kiss on the cheek, Mrs. B had somehow been able to coax Shelly down the steps and was taking the dish from her with a motherly smile.

"Honey?" Coming up behind me, Tom wrapped his arms loosely around my waist and I suppressed a shiver as the damp cold of the beer bottle in his hand bled through the cotton of my t-shirt.

"That her?" he asked as we watched Bobby hustle over to introduce himself, practically knocking over poor Mrs. B in the process.

"Yep," I said as I plucked the beer bottle from his hand and took a long, slow draught. "I'm surprised she decided to come," I added a beat later.

"She may be thinking better of it," Tom observed and I could practically hear him grinning as we watched Bobby reach out to envelop an obviously overwhelmed Shelly in a big, beefy hug.

As amusing as the scene was, I'd been on the receiving end of Bobby's inexhaustible enthusiasm more times that I could count, and in the end it was impossible for me not to take pity on her. Extracting myself from Tom's arms, I handed back his beer with a peck on the cheek and made my way over to them.

"Hey, Bobby."

"Rachel!" he boomed, hooking an arm around Shelly's shoulders. How he missed the way she flinched at the contact is anybody's guess. "You've met Shelly, right?"

"We met a few weeks ago," I confirmed with a nod, and was heartened by the flicker of recognition that crossed her features as our eyes met. Casting a deliberate glance between her and Bobby, I pointedly asked Shelly how she was doing.

"Fine, thanks." she replied, her expression betraying nothing. But the angle of her body and tense set of her shoulders communicated her discomfort plainly enough – at least, to me.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," I said, doing my best to look as if I meant it, "but Alex wanted me to ask if you could run upstairs and grab a sweater for him?"

For a moment it looked as if Bobby was going to protest, but I'd known both him and Alex for long enough to know that when Alex said 'jump' Bobby's usual response was 'how high?'. After a quick apology to Shelly, he was gone, deftly sidestepping Ellie's dog Felix on his way to the door.

"Thanks."

"You looked like you could use a rescue."

"Yeah," she said, eyes trailing after Bobby as he disappeared inside. "Is he always that… _loud_?"

Automatically, my eyes dropped to the bottle in her hand, but unless she'd somehow spiked her pop when no one was looking, intoxication wasn't to blame for her uncharacteristic frankness. "Not…always."

When Shelly didn't reply, I looked up to find to find her watching me expectantly, and was reminded why it was I had come over here in the first place. "Listen I wanted to tell you I'm sorry – for that day, in the mailroom."

Shelly cringed slightly and I wondered if she was going to run off on me again; but after second she seemed to relax and, taking a deep breath, she raised her eyes to meet mine. "It's me who should be apologizing. Your invitation…it kind of caught me off guard."

My incomprehension must have been written pretty plainly on my face because a beat later she added, "I haven't exactly been all that neighborly."

Well, that was certainly true enough; but here she was, surrounded by people and, while not all together comfortable, looking much less jittery than I could ever remember seeing her.

The reason for her reticence seemed obvious enough. "It must be hard."

"What?"

"Looking so much like her. Commander Samantha Carter."

She gave me a strange look I couldn't quite interpret. "You could say that."

Absently I wondered if Shelly's ability to make people uncomfortable was something that came naturally or whether she'd had to work at it. Careful not to dislodge a pan of peach cobbler, I leaned my hip against the table and turned to watch as Tom scooped our squealing son into his arms. "What I mean is, I can understand why you might not like to be around other people all that much."

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that Shelly was also watching the scene, her expression almost wistful. "This is nice," she remarked abruptly, eyes still focused on Tom and Joshua's escalating antics. "It reminds me of the picnics we used to have on base when I was little."

"You were an army brat?"

Shelly seemed to debate with herself a bit before answering carefully, "My Dad was in the Air Force."

"I always wondered what that would be like, moving from place to place. I've lived in or around Seattle all my life. Sometimes it feels a little suffocating."

"I think it sounds wonderful."

I was briefly reminded of the old adage about the grass always being greener, but somehow didn't think Shelly would appreciate the observation. "Where's your Dad stationed now?"

"He passed away a couple of years ago."

"And the rest of your family?"

Shelly shook her head sharply, the gesture clearly all the answer she was willing to give. There was more to the story, though; I was sure of it. But before I was able to say or ask anything more, Mrs. B had swooped in and spirited Shelly away to introduce her to a small group of residents sitting at a nearby table.

As it was, I didn't get a chance to speak with Shelly again until much later in the evening. After all, I wasn't the only one who was curious about her and it seemed that every time I sought her out she was talking to someone new. It must have been downright exhausting, being the center of attention like that. And yet in a complete one-eighty from how she'd appeared earlier, Shelly seemed to be taking it all in stride – possibly even enjoying herself.

This time when I looked her way, she was by herself, sitting on one of the courtyard's low stone benches, leaning back on her palms with her head tilted back as she stared up at the night sky. It was the most at ease I think I'd ever seen her. Mentally I gave myself a pat on the back for having presumably had a hand in bringing about this abrupt change in her demeanor before sending my husband and son on upstairs ahead of me.

She spared me only the briefest of glances as I approached before returning her attention heavenward, fascination and contentment written plainly on the soft lines of her face. Automatically my eyes followed suit, vainly searching the inky expanse for whatever it was that could be holding her attention.

"The ambient light from the city makes it impossible to see all but the brightest, but they're up there. Every one of them." Though her gaze never wavered Shelly must have sensed my confusion because a beat later she clarified, "The stars."

"Oh," I replied stupidly, unable to think of anything else to say. What little astronomy I remembered I'd learned years ago in an undergraduate class, taken for no other reason than to fill a pesky science requirement. It was clear that Shelly knew much, much more about it than I did, and for some inexplicable reason the realization made me feel lonely.

"Someday we'll get back out there," she whispered softly, after several minutes had passed in silence. "We have to."

I had the sneaking suspicion that Shelly had forgotten I was even there. Dropping my gaze, I watched through one of the second floor windows as my husband moved about Joshua's room, no doubt getting him ready for bed.

"I should probably head upstairs." Shelly didn't move, didn't respond and so, feeling compelled to fill the silence I added, "I'm glad you decided to come."

"So am I," she said, sounding surprised.

"Maybe we'll see you for coffee this Sunday?"

I waited for what was probably a bit longer than felt natural, but Shelly never answered. With the smallest shake of my head I left her sitting there, alone and smiling, and hurried upstairs to help my husband tuck our son into bed.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Dusting my floury hands on the front of my jeans, I made my way through our apartment as the doorbell chimed a second time. Opening the door, I was more than a little surprised to find Shelly standing framed in the doorway.

"I'm sorry to bother you," she said, her cheeks coloring slightly as she waggled a battered pink measuring cup between her fingers, "but Mrs. B sent me to ask if we could borrow a cup of sugar." It was hard to tell which she was more embarrassed about, having to give voice to the cliché itself or for appearing in my doorway in the first place.

Whatever the reason, I didn't mind the interruption in the least – baking had never been one of my favorite activities – and after stepping aside I gestured for her to come inside. "I guess this means you're spending the holiday with Mrs. B?" I asked as I led her down the hallway and into the kitchen.

"She's a hard woman to say no to," Shelly replied, her tone making it clear that she had tried to do so repeatedly and was less than thrilled with her lack of success.

"She means well, you know."

Though I'd meant every word – it was difficult not to be protective where Mrs. B was concerned – the rebuke had come out much more sharply than I'd intended, and Shelly's complexion paled slightly in response.

"I know she does. I just…hadn't really been planning to celebrate this year."

If _that_ was the excuse Shelly had used, it was no wonder Mrs. B had refused to take 'no' for an answer. The notion that someone would willingly choose not to celebrate Christmas – let alone want to spend the holiday alone – would have been as foreign to her as it was to me.

A fact I felt the need to try and explain as I opened the cabinet and reached for the sugar canister. "She and her husband never had any children of their own, so she's always made a point of taking everyone here under her wing. And now that Mr. B's gone…well, we're all she has left."

There was a pause that seemed to hang in the air for just a moment too long before Shelly replied softly, "She's very lucky to have you."

Despite my best efforts, I seemed to have a knack for unintentionally bringing up subjects that were upsetting to Shelly, and the tone of her voice made it clear that I had done so yet again. "The luck runs both ways. For _all_ of us," I said gently, hoping she would catch my drift and it would be enough to chase away the sudden melancholy shadowing her features.

The stiff nod Shelly gave me was far from convincing but, at a loss for anything else to say, I decided to let the matter rest and set about pouring the sugar into the measuring cup.

"How old is he?"

Glancing up, I saw that Shelly had moved further into the kitchen and was now gazing into the next room, watching Tom and my son as they played together at the foot of our Christmas tree. "Three years old next month."

"He's beautiful."

"Joshua is the best surprise Tom ever gave me." I cast a wry look at Shelly who was now looking at me with a mixture of embarrassment, amusement and surprise. "We weren't planning on having kids. At least, not then."

"Why not?"

"Tom was still finishing his thesis; I still had a year to go…we'd both agreed to wait until things were more settled. After we'd finished school, put away some savings, bought a house. But…" I said with a shrug, "sometimes things don't work out the way you planned."

"No; they don't," Shelly agreed, something hard and bitter creeping into her voice.

"What happened?" I asked, not really expecting an answer.

To my immense surprise, I got one only a few seconds later.

"I had someone. Jack. I had friends. A job I loved. And then…everything changed." It was impossible not to notice the way she hesitated, her arms tightening defensively across her chest as she bowed her head and sagged back against the edge of the counter. "I lost them."

"I'm sorry," I said after a while, unable to think of anything more eloquent to say. Mercifully, I'd never experienced the kind of loss she had described; couldn't begin to imagine how it must have felt. "If there's anything I can do–"

"There isn't." Belatedly she seemed to realize how harsh she'd sounded, because a moment later she grimaced at me apologetically before continuing, "To be honest, there really isn't anything I can do, either."

My gaze drifted to the other room, where my son was making the most of Santa's gifts. The play of color from the lights of the tree on his cheeks as he looked up and laughed was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen; one of countless such moments I'd experienced since bringing Joshua into the world. And despite the occasional regret for everything I'd given up after he'd been born – career, ambition and professional achievement – I couldn't imagine my life being any other way.

"You can live your life, make the most of what you _do_ have."

"That's just it. _I_ can't." She paused a moment to look at me askance before dropping her gaze to the floor. "I have no idea why I'm telling you all of this."

To be honest, I wasn't all that sure either and it made me more than a little uncomfortable. It wasn't that I minded being a shoulder to lean on; it was abundantly clear that, however reluctant, Shelly was sorely in need of one. It was more that the situation had left me feeling horribly out of my depth, without a clue as to how I could even begin to try and help her.

"It wasn't ideal, in the beginning. But Tom and I found a way to make it work and be happy. You can, too."

Shelly didn't reply, but the look she gave me made it clear that she wasn't nearly as certain. We stood together in silence, until finally Shelly cocked her head in the direction of the counter, where the measuring cup was standing, forgotten, by the sink.

"Thanks for the sugar."

"Right, of course," I said hurriedly, reaching for the cup and carefully handing it to her. I made a point of meeting her eyes before adding, "Anytime."

Shelly hesitated, then nodded, uttering a quiet 'Merry Christmas' before slipping down the hallway and shutting the door softly behind her.

*~*~*~*~*~*

"Daniel listen, I have to go. I'll see you soon."

The sound of Shelly's voice pulls my attention away from the incredible events playing out on Mrs. B's television. From my position at the threshold of her open apartment door, I watch distractedly as Shelly snaps her phone shut and strides out of the elevator. It's only as she's slipping the device into her purse that I realize that in the all the months she's been living here, I've never once seen Shelly using a cell phone.

But what's even stranger is the absence of fear in her countenance, something that's been clouding everyone's features since the first images of the strange ship in the sky popped up on YouTube. Instead, her face is set with a grim determination that makes her look almost intimidating.

Almost like Commander Samantha Carter.

She brushes past me without seeing me – or any of the rest of us for that matter – her footsteps echoing loudly over the sounds of the television and the murmur of voices coming from inside Mrs. B's crowded apartment.

"Shelly, wait!" I call out, resisting the urge to reach out and take hold of her arm. "Where are you going?"

She turns to me, her expression a wash of emotions I can't quite identify. But one thing is clear: whatever's happening in the skies overhead, Shelly knows more about it than what's being broadcast on TV.

And if I didn't know any better, I'd say she was almost excited about it.

"Shelly?"

She hesitates, her eyes searching mine. But before she's able to say anything, there's the sound of wheels churning on pavement from outside, and a moment later a giant black hulk of an SUV swings into view. We watch together as it comes to a stop directly in front of the building, and a pair of uniformed officers climbs out.

"What's going on?" I ask, wide-eyed.

Shelly looks at me, and then glances over my shoulder to where Mrs. B is sitting, my son on her lap, surrounded by our neighbors – her family. When Shelly finally looks back at me, her expression is openly apologetic. "Everything's about to change," she says simply, giving my arm a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry."

And with that she rushes out, nodding to the officers as if it's second nature to her as she climbs into the waiting vehicle.

"See? I _told_ you she was a secret agent."

"Shut up, Bobby," I say, my heart racing almost painfully in my chest as I watch the SUV pull away.

 

*fin.*


End file.
